


Insufferable Bastards

by thehipstervampire



Category: Original Work
Genre: Multi, look at all them ocs, prompt fills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2418056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehipstervampire/pseuds/thehipstervampire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The adventures of Marcus and Harold; otherwise known as a collection of short stories about two unlikely "friends" and the adventures they get into around the castle when their princess is away. (Otherwise otherwise known as a collection of prompt fills at the expense of a snarky vampire and the gentlemanly musician he’s forced to cohabitate with.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> So these short stories are prompt fills using characters from an original work I'd written a while back, but am currently rewriting at present. (Still in the contemplative stage.) Still, I'm hoping people will enjoy reading about these characters as much as I enjoy writing about them.

_Dramatis Personae_

Vladimir Marcus- The aristocratic vampire c.1534 AD  
Harold Blakeleigh- The Musician/former English Prince c.1774 AD  
George Blakeleigh- The Crown Prince of England c.1774 AD  
Bernard (Beetle) Howe- The vampiric cutthroat c.1819 AD  
Edward Darcy- The pompous aristocrat c.1824 AD  
Tony Doro- The dancer c.1935 AD  
Kate Davis- The reluctant princess c.2014 AD

 

These persons all taken from their respective time periods/universes and deposited in a world between worlds must band together and challenge what horrors threaten their lands.

OR

Become friends and battle their inner demons.  
These stories primarily deal with the latter.


	2. The Button

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking the rules is far more fun when you have the perfect distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im not going to lie, this is just me having some fun putting my characters in situations.
> 
> Prompt: “Character A just pressed the red button. Character B can’t believe it. Character B told them, firmly, explicitly, under no circumstances should they press the red button! What happens next?”

“Marcus…”

“Yes, Harold?”

“I know you didn’t just…”

“Indeed I did.” Marcus ghosted his fingers across the control panel, casually returning to the red button every so often. He could tell Harold was fuming: his flushed face betrayed indignation at the defiance of his order. Oh, but it had been so tempting. How could Marcus resist the opportunity to provoke such a rise out of the poor man?

“Do you know what you just did?!” Harold ran one of his hands through his raven hair as he prodded at the buttons, hoping to rectify the situation before things devolved into chaos. “Honestly Marcus, do you have any self control?”  
“Stop complaining. If you didn’t want me to press it, you obviously shouldn't have mentioned it,” Marcus drawled as he strolled over to the monitors that displayed footage of the inside of the castle. People screamed as they rushed the hallways, trying to get outside as quickly as possible. It was no use; the sprinklers simply wouldn’t stop.

“Maybe if we just leave quietly, nobody will suspect… hey!” Harold sighed as he realized the room was empty. That bastard. He had found what they needed, apparently. Harold managed to shut off the alarm and slipped out of the security office, immediately running into what felt like a brick wall.  
“Goin’ somewhere?” A rough voice sounded behind him. His eyes made their way up to the surly face of the Head Guard. Harold ran.  
In a nearby corridor, Marcus twirled his new keys around his finger. Harold needed to get in some trouble every once in a while, and he needed a wingman to get him in places. Their friendship was meant to be, he decided, as he heard two sets of pounding feet rush right past him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I haven't had anyone check thoroughly for proper spelling and grammar, since this is more of a fun thing for me, but if anyone notices anything just let me know.


	3. Tongue-Tied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun with a certain card game. Fun making fun of your enemies. What could be more fun?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another goofy chapter just because, again, I enjoy putting my characters into situations.  
> Sidenote: Kate and Harold are dating.  
> Sidenote #2: Marcus has not completely warmed up to the idea that Kate and Harold are dating.  
> Sidenote #3: Harold is fully aware that Marcus is particularly sore on this subject.
> 
> PROMPT: “Under what circumstances do they lick a thing to claim it as their own?”

“Your turn to judge, George.”  
“Alright, everyone. Impress me.” George flipped over the black card and leaned back in his chair, his gaze daring the other boys to hit him with their worst. It was a Saturday night, and all the boys were having their mandatory bi-monthly “bonding time”, initiated in order to foster brotherhood among the "princes". It was more or less of a disaster each time, but what could you really expect from them?

Harold sighed as he looked through his hand. It wasn't that he wasn't good at the game, nor was he actually as prudish as some of the other boys liked to think. He was simply out of luck this hand.  
“Having some trouble over there? Is Saint Harold feeling conflicted over playing such a debauched game?” Marcus was, at times, the most infuriating person he had ever met. He decided it would be best to ignore the snide comment and pulled a card from the deck closest to him, eyes gleaming as he realized he might be able to turn his luck around. Yes, this card would do.

George began to read off the cards, laughing as he came to Harold’s, “How did I lose my virginity?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, “Licking things to claim them as your own… Absolutely. No question. I don't know who put down ‘A Mopey Zoo Lion’, but son you might need to reconsider your life choices.” Harold smoothly added the black card to his growing pile, giving Marcus a bit of a smug grin. He deserved it, at least.

The game was all but forgotten until a few days later, when the ladies returned to the castle. As they caught up, discussing what they'd been busy with, the game came back up in conversation.  
“Yes even Saint Harold managed a few black cards. To think, he might not actually become a priest after all.” Marcus cast him a patronizing gaze as he went on to discuss some of the best rounds they'd played, especially the ones he had won. Harold didn’t know exactly why he decided to do what he did next. Perhaps he hit his limit of “bonding time” for the weekend.  
“And let’s not forget how I lost my virginity…” Harold trailed off, licking a small stripe up Kate’s face. The reaction he received was worth its weight in gold and then some.  
“What the hell are you doing…?” Kate laughed and pushed him off, making slightly disgusted noises as she rubbed her cheek. As for Marcus, he stood rigid for a moment, fury gleaming in his eyes as he glared at Harold, finally stalking away to his room muttering something about how “it was a stupid game anyways…”  
Harold couldn’t wait to play again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Other information: Kate is the protagonist of my main story, but these short stories mainly focus on the interesting interactions between the boys because I enjoy exploring these characters from their different perspectives, which I haven't really gotten into yet in my other work. 
> 
> Tl;dr- Kate is a badass in her story but I'm playing around with a few of my other characters for a bit.
> 
> *Harold is usually very prim and proper, which Marcus often throws back at him, for lack of better ammunition.


	4. The Coin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus has lost something dear to him, and it's Harold to the rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I've started getting a real storyline going between the short stories, although I will probably add in some unrelated ones as well. 
> 
> PROMPT: “Your Antagonist has an object of high personal value to them. How do they treat this object? Do they keep it safe or use/wears it until it breaks?”

“Where is it?!” Harold heard Marcus snarl as he tore through the common room, frantically looking under every pillow, cushion, and piece of furniture that wasn’t nailed to the floor. Harold couldn’t remember that last time he’d seen the man so worked up, but decided that now wasn't a good time to be in his way. As he slid over to the door to his room, a sudden grip on his vest made him stop short. “Harold…”  
“What do you want now, Marcus?” Harold had avoided his gaze, admittedly afraid that Marcus wouldn’t hesitate to blame him (again) for whatever was going wrong this time. He was surprised to see Marcus actually look humble when he turned around; before he could ask why, Marcus removed his hand and muttered something Harold couldn’t make out.  
“I beg your pardon…”  
“Can you please help me,” Marcus struggled, “I've lost something and I don't know where it could be, and you help Kate find things all the time so I figured you would know... Also, you're the only man I've seen actually clean around here and I figure you would be the one to find it…” Marcus trailed off, his lips pressed in a thin line as he awaited Harold’s response.  
“I suppose I could give it a shot. What are we looking for?” Marcus’ eyebrows rose and he blinked a few times, surprised, before pointing to one of the overstuffed chairs by the fireplace.  
“I know I had it last night when I was reading. It’s a small coin, bent, not really worth anything. However, I would greatly appreciate having it back in my possession.”  
“Let’s start there, then.” Harold tried giving him a comforting smile, but the icy grimace he received in response told him it was probably best to give his companion some space. His eyes trailed over the swirling, subdued pattern of the carpet before an idea hit him. He crawled over to the fireplace and hesitantly sifted through the ashes, hoping he wasn't getting his hands dirty for nothing. “So, why do you want this coin back if it isn't worth anything?” Harold tested the waters.  
“That is none of your concern,” Marcus bit out, bending down to help him sort through the soot. “Why are you looking here anyways? It’s not like I would do something as foolish as dropping it into the fire…” Harold held up a greasy piece of metal, a slight smile on his face.  
“The maids sometimes take shortcuts and sweep the dirt around the fireplace back into the pit. We really need more thorough caretakers around here.” Ignoring the narrow eyes piercing him, he placed the coin down in front of Marcus and stood up, patting his shoulder before realizing there was still dark ash all over his hands. Oops.  
“Well as exciting as that was, I really need to go take care of some business of my own so I'll see you around.” As Harold departed, he heard a muttered “thanks” behind him, and shook his head.  
Marcus stood carefully with his trinket, smudging the soot off the battered coin before lifting it to his lips, feeling tears gather in his eyes. He placed it back into his pocket, straightened his clothes, cleared his throat, and swore to never mention the incident again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I'm not sure if/how I should be sourcing these prompts, but I've found many of them on Tumblr. I will likely go back and put where I found them in my notes. 
> 
> *Other information: Wondering about the coin? From what I've researched, a bent coin was a romantic token during the 16th century.  
> Marcus is from Transylvania (Tropey for a vampire? Perhaps, but that's a bit of what I was going for.), so I'm not sure if that is geographically accurate, but I figured I could bend a few rules considering that I'm dealing with portals, alternate universes, and anachronology already.  
> Anyways, I hope you've enjoyed.


	5. The Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold pushes Marcus a bit too far; Marcus realizes what an ass he can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: “Person A accidentally breaks Person B’s hand. What happens?”

Marcus was in the middle of planning a highly important raid for invading a crucial nearby base. He knew it wasn't really a requirement of the video game, but he found that covering all of his bases dramatically increased his success rate. It was also a great way to avoid the boredom that so often overtook him. Today however, he noticed an interruption to his strategizing tentatively headed his way.  
“Pardon me, Marcus. I know this might be uncomfortable for you…”  
“And yet, you continue to speak.” Marcus gave him a pointed glare as he tapped the pen on his notebook. “I’m busy.”  
“I understand!” Harold exclaimed; he seemed twitchier than usual. More like his old self. “One moment is all I ask.” Marcus closed the book petulantly, folding his hands.  
“Go ahead. You have my undivided attention.”  
“That coin from the other day, I was just wondering… who was she?” Marcus blinked a few times, caught off guard. He knew Harold could be impertinent, possibly due to his royal upbringing, but this was ridiculous. His past was, as a general rule, off limits for discussion.  
“I thought I told you,” Marcus snipped, “that is none of your concern.”  
“It’s just,” Harold ran a hand through his hair, obviously uncomfortable with the entire situation, “I thought you might want, or it might help, to talk about it with someone?”  
“Go away, Harold.” Marcus rose from the table gracefully, deciding that if the prying pinnacle of perfection was going to insist on staying, he would be the one to find his own spot of peace and quiet.  
“Wait!” Harold fumbled out of his chair, half on the floor in the process. “I know it’s a love token right?!” He scrambled in pursuit, “I know it’s from around the 16th century, which means it was probably from someone important before you turned,” his voice was frantic as he grabbed for Marcus’ shoulder, “and I know how it feels to lose…”  
“SHUT THE HELL UP, HAROLD,” Marcus whirled around and gripped Harold’s hand so forcefully he heard a pained cry from the slight man and the sickening sound of bone snapping. He dropped the hand, wide-eyed, gaping at his companion. “Oh God… Oh my God…”  
“I’m sorry…” Harold whimpered, clutching his hand.  
“No, no no no Harold… God,” Marcus threw his head back, hands over his face as he tried to think of what to do. He lifted the smaller man on his back and broke into a sprint, headed straight for the nurse’s clinic. He could swear he could hear Harold crying but attempted to ignore it. It just made both of them even more uncomfortable. The clinic was basically empty, so he walked straight back to the examination room and dropped Harold onto the table.  
“His hand… I broke his hand. Fix it. Right now.” With this, Marcus was out the door before Harold could blink.

Marcus’ head was spinning as he ran. He wasn’t sure where he was running; only that he couldn’t think straight and he didn’t know why. He used to kill people regularly, (not that he was completely comfortable with it even then,) and now he was in a panic over hurting the one man that pestered him on an almost daily basis.  
When he came back to himself he realized he was in the nearby Cathedral. He let out a strangled chuckle. Of course he would be. The building was likely empty at this hour. Nobody was there that Marcus could hear, anyways. Figuring it was a good a time as ever, he knelt down and offered a quick prayer to the deity he was still unsure was listening that he might not have to leave the kingdom. That was the most rational explanation for why he felt so horrible for hurting Harold. He didn’t want to be forced out again by torch and pitchfork. Sighing, he put his head in his hands.  
He was being a dumbass and he knew it. He knew he cared about the people he lived with more than he was willing to admit. They were like a family; a completely dysfunctional family at times, but a family nonetheless. He would be horrified if he hurt any of them, and he was. God only knew what they thought of him now. He made his way back to the castle slowly, hoping to delay the oncoming storm, just for a short while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter seems like it might run a bit fast to me, and I'd like to go back sometime and put a bit more detail into it.


	6. The Accident (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus and Harold talk about what happened the day before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marcus is an ass. And yet, Harold knows there's a good heart in him somewhere. Way deep down.

It was well after midnight before Marcus slunk back into the castle, treading as lightly as he could. Vampiric senses came in handy sometimes. Unfortunately, though not unexpectedly, Harold was waiting for him in the common room. The patience of a saint, he would tease, if not for the situation they were in. Marcus sighed and stepped out of the shadows, glancing at Harold just quickly enough to catch the black brace around his hand.  
“Well, the good news is they won’t have to do surgery. However, it’s going to take some time to heal.” Oddly enough, Harold didn’t sound as angry as Marcus had imagined on his way back. He hadn’t been set on fire yet, anyways.  
“I figure we’ll just tell the girls something believable. Say I fell off a ladder or something.” At this, Marcus’ head snapped around as he delivered a withering look.  
“I broke your goddamned hand, you wretch,” he spit, “why would you tell them that?” Then, the strangest thing happened. Harold had the nerve to start _smiling_.  
“Because you like me.”  
Marcus was at a loss for words.  
“I don’t… You… What?” He fell onto the couch, stupefied. “Let’s get one thing straight, you are not my type, and even if you were that sort of behavior in any relationship is definitely uncalled for, which makes me question what Kate has been doing to you these past few years…”  
“Not like that you foul mouthed, narcissistic, virulent bastard!” Harold was outright laughing at him at this point, and slugged him in the arm… about as well as one would expect from the musician.  
“Let me make one thing clear,” Marcus said hesitantly, “I take no responsibility for the damage you inflict upon yourself hitting me.”  
“Let me make one thing clear myself,” Harold’s smile only unnerved him further, if only because it was full of satisfaction and the slightest bit smug. “I know, that beneath that horrid shell of sarcasm, and snark, and caustic remarks, and that bloody smirk you always wear on your face, there is a heart in you Marcus. Of course I’d seen it with Kate, you can be such a sop when you see fit, but this is a new low even for you, Marcus.” Harold stared at him a bit longer; Marcus seething as it finally hit him that he had given Harold the upper hand in whatever game it was they’d been playing. Harold’s expression softened as he extended his good hand. “I understand that it was an accident. I also understand now that your temper is far worse than I had expected, and I took that for granted. I forgive you, and I’m sorry.” The room was uncomfortably quiet for a moment, before Marcus reached out and took his hand.  
“I’m sorry as well.” Marcus felt an uncomfortable heat wash over him, and wished he could slip over to his room already. Sharing his feelings was not what he signed on for, regardless of how well Harold was treating him. Suspiciously well, he might add. “What do you expect of me now?”  
“Well,” Harold jumped in, obviously having thought this through, “I don’t suppose you could help me with a few things now that I’m a bit… incapacitated? A pianist is nothing without two hands, you know. Just until I’m healed, of course.” Marcus rolled his eyes. It figured. The man was ever the opportunist, not that Marcus could blame him.  
“Of course. Anything else?”  
“Tell me about that coin there?” Harold’s voice shook a bit on that request. Marcus bit back the sharp retort he had planned and gave Harold a thoughtful glance.  
“Perhaps someday. When you deserve such knowledge,” he threw in, lest it appear he really was going soft.  
“Fair enough.”


	7. What's Done is Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Marcus' first love? Harold might finally find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A Day of Winter  
> “Who was your Antagonist’s first love?  
> What happened to them?”

Marcus slammed the door and threw himself onto his bed, fully aware that he was acting like a teenage brat. He lived around enough of them to be thoroughly acquainted with the behavior. He scowled at the door, hoping that Harold would have no further need of him the rest of the day. Like that was a possibility.

For the past few days Marcus and Harold had been practically inseparable, to his displeasure. He could see that Harold was truly enjoying himself, though. ‘And rightly so,’ he thought bitterly. He scowled as he heard his name called from the common room. Again. Although he didn’t really need sleep, it would be nice if he could feign it just for a few moments respite. The lights were low as he crept down the stairs, still hoping it was a case of hearing phantom voices or something of the sort. What a voice to get stuck in his head.

“Marcus….” Nope. That voice was very real and very whiny and coming right from the couch. Marcus peered over at Harold’s sprawled out form. The musician cautiously peeked over the top of his book, no doubt trying to look innocent. Well, if that didn’t fool Marcus from the first day they’d met it certainly wouldn’t help him now.  
“What do you want this time?” He punctuated this with an eye-roll, arms crossed, hoping to get the message across that he was sick of Harold acting like an invalid. He had two perfectly good legs and at least one hand left, what could possibly be giving him so much trouble? (He knew the answer. It was a lot of things. Apparently getting used to doing things one-handedly took longer than he had anticipated.)

“Could you get me some milk? Please?” That insufferable voice was as soft and polite as he supposed an angel’s would be and it made him _sick_. Not bothering with a response, Marcus went to the kitchen and pulled out a glass and the jug, glancing at the stack of cookies on the table. Giving in to the small voice that was telling him it was his fault his companion was like… well, the way he was, he grabbed a few and took the snack back to the injured one.

“Thank… Oh! You brought cookies too? Thank you very much Marcus, I’m sorry. If I could but open the jug myself…” Marcus stopped him with a withering glare, then halted, noticing that Harold actually did sound apologetic. Interesting. His expression softened as he set the provisions down on their coffee table.  
“I’m probably going to hate the both of us for this. If I told you a story, would you leave me alone for a little while?”


	8. What's Done is Done (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus shares a story with Harold.

Marcus paused for a moment, considering how to go about it. “I’m only going to tell this once, alright?”  
“Alright.”  
“Alright.” Another uncomfortable pause. “My mother died in childbirth. I’m not vying for your pity Harold, that’s just what happened. I was raised by several advisors and my father, the Baron. He died when I was nineteen. Nobody knew how, but there were rumors of foul play.” Marcus rubbed his eyes, “This has little effect on the story except to explain a bit about the conditions in which I was raised. As you can imagine, I took my freedom for granted, as well as my power. Women and drink and political games were all that interested me. I received a good education because I had several admirable tutors who drilled me in politics, history, mathematics, and science, in the case of one brave soul. But I once again digress.

There was a girl I met in court named Maria, the daughter of an aristocrat. We had our fun together, and I vowed to send her off as I had any other lady, (and don’t you dare judge me Harold. You know how court games work as well as I do, even if you may have refrained from actively participating.) But it was not to be. Maria… What to tell you about Maria…” Marcus leaned back further onto the couch, eyes on the ceiling. “She was very kind. She didn’t appreciate the things I did, and she told me as much. I refused to listen. She refused to leave. We got along very well except for when we were fighting over one issue or another, which was quite often. I admired her fire and her compassion. Looking back, I can see how ridiculously foolhardy I was, thinking that I was young and invincible. My hunger for power was insatiable, and that is what did me in.

In my twenty-eighth year, one of my father’s advisors came to me, offering me power beyond my wildest dreams. With images of great conquerors past parading through my thoughts, I leapt desperately at the prospect. Maria was furious. I loved her, truly I did Harold. You’ll never hear it from me again, but I was so desperately in love with this woman I had considered taking her for my wife several times, but couldn’t drag her into my bloody world of politics. She was far too good for that. She was definitely too good for me. Had I known what would happen when I slipped out that night, I would have gladly stayed beside her, warm in my bed.

That night was the night I was reborn. My advisor, as you may well have guessed, had nothing good planned for me the evening he became my maker. He sent me tearing across the countryside, devouring whoever dared to cross my path. He called me to my castle as a part of his ‘grand finale’. It was a bloodbath, Harold. Of course, it roused Maria, who stared at me… There are not words for the moment in which our eyes met. She was devastated. I tried to call out to her but then that wretch,” Marcus snarled, hands shaking on his knees, eyes burning into Harold’s. “That vile serpent charged in, followed by a mob of angry subjects armed with torch and pitchfork, and silver swords in the case of the aristocrats. I realized my mistake as soon as they barged in, going first for Maria, and then for me. It happened in the blink of an eye, but the image of Maria sprawled across the chamber in a nightdress stained scarlet by her own blood, _by her own blood, Harold!_ That will haunt me till the day they put me back into the ground, and ever after. I sobered at this, and fled the castle, leaving it to the bastards who’d loot and light it up.”

Marcus was startled by a hand that reached hesitantly for his shoulder, and he gave a slight nod.  
“There are not words indeed, my friend,” was all that Harold said, but he sat beside him for some time, until he fell asleep on Marcus’ shoulder. If tears were shed, neither of them acknowledged the fact. Marcus sighed, shifting the slumbering man back onto the couch, turning off the lights, and creeping once more to his room.  
He was finally alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Other information: I would really like to do another spinoff that really focuses on Marcus and Maria because she is super cool. While I hate the concept of "the woman has to die because man pain", I also realize that this character was the guiding light for Marcus and when that was snuffed out, he finally realized the consequences of his actions. 
> 
> *This story also dips into the other part of Marcs' backstory, when he was turned. Someday I might write where we meet his maker, but not quite yet.


	9. The Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What haunts the undead at night?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "When was the last time your antagonist cried? What caused them to cry?"

Marcus was running as fast as he could through the forest, the moon casting eerie shadows as it poured through the evergreen boughs. Crimson rivulets streamed down his face, blurring his vision, but he didn’t dare look back. He could hear the wolves, the children of the night calling to him. In every shadow there hung a bloodless face, in every tree a corpse. Ruby droplets on the snow grew in size and number as he ran deeper into the forest, pursued by the swiftly encroaching beasts. No wolf he had ever seen had been as huge as these behind him, or so the sound of their padded footsteps told him. Out of breath and skin glistening with bloody perspiration, he almost threw himself back at the wolves to end the ordeal- and then he burst into a clearing. Soft snow was falling overhead as he approached the figure standing in the center of the clearing, where the trail led him. Marcus could not even scream as he reached out to the pale figure, knowing what he would see should he turn it around; yet he reached all the same, an invisible force guiding his arm. The body collapsed into a pool of rouge as his fingers brushed the soaked gown. A final wail penetrated the unnatural stillness of the night,  
“Dragos.”

Marcus woke violently, his body attempting to heave out bile it was no longer capable of producing. He gasped for breath, realizing he was both covered in blood and shaking, which some rational part of his mind dismissed as ridiculous, considering that members of the living dead generally did not need to breathe. The door suddenly swung open as a mop-headed Harold stumbled in, frowning. It was at this point that Marcus also noticed the sanguine tears gathering in his eyes once more. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Pardon… Heard screaming… Oh dear.” Harold looked as if he was about to bolt, yet at the last moment slipped inside, closing the door. He eased down beside Marcus, patting his arm soothingly. Marcus simply pulled his knees up and dropped his head down onto them.  
“You see why I’d usually rather not sleep then, I take it.”  
Harold’s brow furrowed as he realized he was smearing blood across Marcus’ skin. “Does this happen every time you sleep? My god, Marcus…” Marcus gestured vaguely toward a dresser along the wall, where Harold found a few pristine white towels. “Are you sure you want…”  
“Go ahead. It’s not like I have much use for them anyways.”  
“Alright.” Harold did his best to wipe some of the blood off his companion, who refused to move from the position he’d curled into, shame rooting him in one place.  
“You know how we have those things we don’t mention, Harold? This is one of those. We don’t mention this.”  
“Alright.”  
“And no, it doesn’t happen every time. But enough for me to take full advantage of the fact that I don’t actually need sleep. I just… I just wanted to forget for a while.” Harold nodded in understanding, and pulled back Marcus’ long platinum hair as best he could, which was also stained a light shade of pink.  
“You’re scaring me a bit, to be quite honest. Are you sure you’re alright?”  
“Harold, I’m 500 years old. I can take care of myself. Goodnight.” Marcus’ demeanor had frosted over once more, which Harold took as a sign that he needed some space.  
“I’ll be right down the hall if you need me.” A grunt in reply told him his work was done, so Harold moved back to his post in the living room where he sat deep in thought, and watched the sun rise.  
“Things were a lot easier when we simply hated each other.”


End file.
